Lisa ½
by Dead Composer
Summary: Post Goo Goo Gai Pan. While still in China, Selma and the Simpsons follow Bart to a certain cursed spring...
1. Chapter 1

This story is rated PG.

Disclaimer: I don't know nothin' 'bout birthin' no baby.

* * *

The sun was but a pale sliver above the horizon as the Chinese junk floated serenely toward the shore. Inside the small watercraft were seated Homer, Marge, Lisa, a Chinese boy wearing a spiky wig, Selma, and Selma's newly adopted baby daughter, Ling. 

"I beg of you to take me to America," the lad with the wig pleaded in fractured English. "My family, they are so poor, they have only rice paper to eat. I promise I will be good American capitalist boy."

"Sorry, egg foo youngster," said Homer firmly, "but even if you stay out of trouble, clean your messes, get good grades in school, and be nice to Lisa, we'll never love you as much as we love Bart."

"I promise to do all of those things, and more," said the Chinese boy.

Intrigued, Homer relaxed his grip on the oars.

"I hereby dub thee Bart 2.0," he proclaimed.

"Forget it, Homer," Marge snarled at him.

The small boat pulled up to the harbor, and Selma, cradling her sleepy infant, was the first to step onto the pier. "I say we go back to the hotel," she recommended.

"I think we should go to the police," said Marge.

"I think we should go to Tibet," said Lisa.

"Oh, you just want to join an underground resistance movement," said Homer peevishly.

Lisa shrugged. "Well, it was worth a shot."

* * *

Bart had no idea of the time, or his location, or the fact that the rest of his family had departed for home. He could think of nothing but the graceful movements of the Shaolin monks as they practiced their martial arts routines in the midst of a bamboo grove. He breathed shallowly, fearing to move a muscle lest the sensitive ears of the monks should detect his presence. 

The half-dozen robed Asians sparred for about ten minutes, then bowed to each other and wandered deeper into the forest. Thinking they might be headed for a secret cave lair, Bart tiptoed rapidly in pursuit. He had followed them to a grassy field dotted with springs of water, when an unwelcome noise reached his ears.

"Bart!"

_It's Lisa_, he thought. _She's always trying to spoil my fun. Not this time, sis._

But Bart was out of luck - the monks had heard the shout as well. As they turned and looked at the boy, their faces flashed disapproval.

"You should not be here, little one," one of the monks scolded him with a heavy accent.

"Is very bad if you fall in spring," added another.

"Beware the curse," warned a third.

"Cool," marveled Bart, gazing wistfully at the pools surrounding him. Strolling to the edge of one spring, he bent his knees and stretched out his finger to test the water temperature.

"Stop!" cried a monk, leaping forward. "That is spring of drowned tiger."

Bart smiled wickedly. "You mean there's, like, a tiger skeleton at the bottom? And me without my scuba gear."

Overpowered by curiosity, Bart reached down to untie his shoe just as Lisa ran toward him, followed by Homer, Marge, Selma, and Ling. "Bart, you're okay!" said the girl with delight.

"You shouldn't have run off like that," Marge chided her son. "You could have been killed, or worse."

Bart gave his family a brief glance of acknowledgement, then proceeded to remove his shoes.

"Put your shoes on, boy," Homer ordered. "We're already half an hour late for our flight. We don't want to miss it."

"Aw, Dad, I just wanna wade a little," grumbled Bart as he hiked up his shorts.

Turning clockwise, he spied a particularly attractive spring and walked toward it on his bare feet. "Stop, foolish boy!" cried a monk, trying to grab his arm.

Bart jerked aside to avoid him, lost his balance, toppled backwards, and rolled down an incline into the deep end of the spring. The water seemed to draw him in like a tongue, and was peaceful again within seconds.

"Oh, my Buddha!" exclaimed Lisa. The monks turned to each other and shook their heads sadly.

"Quick, Homer!" Marge urged her husband. "Get him out of there!"

As the fat man trudged determinedly forward, one of the monks stepped into his path. "You cannot save him now," he said ominously. "If you fall in water, you be cursed as well."

Puzzled, Homer stopped abruptly. "Is it a good curse or a bad curse?" he inquired.

"Very bad curse," the monk replied. "In every spring something drowned. If you swim in spring, you turn into last thing that drowned. If you swim in spring of drowned tiger, you turn into tiger. If you swim in spring of drowned panda, you turn into panda."

"Omigosh, he's not coming up!" said Marge with alarm. Indeed, the surface of the water was apparently undisturbed, even by air bubbles.

"Which spring did Bart fall into?" asked Homer.

"Spring of drowned girl," answered the monk.

The Simpsons and Bouviers stared blankly at him.

"Imagine that," said Selma as Ling wriggled in her arms. "Three little Simpsons girls. The Pointer Sisters had better watch out."

Homer began to edge nervously away from the spring as Lisa quickly pulled off her buckle shoes. "I'm already a girl," she observed, "so I have nothing to be afraid of. Hold on, Bart, I'm coming!"

"Be careful, Lisa!" cried Marge as the girl rushed to the water's brink and dove in with a resounding splash.

Seconds passed. Homer, Marge, Selma, and the monks surrounded the spring, watching for signs of life from Bart and Lisa while keeping a safe distance. They could see little through the murky water.

"Don't worry," Marge comforted her anxious husband. "There's no curse. It's all superstitious hocus-pocus."

Homer looked thoughtfully at her. "But all the stuff in the Bible is true, right?" he asked hesitantly.

Marge nodded.

An instant later the surface of the spring broke, and Bart's spiked head emerged.

"He's all right!" said Marge with relief.

Then the rest of Bart's body rose from the water. To the bemusement of all present, he was tightly clad in Lisa's red dress. A pearl necklace was draped around his neck.

"Where's Lisa?" asked Selma.

"I'm right here," replied Bart matter-of-factly.

Homer and Marge shot him startled expressions.

Bart reached behind his back and unfastened his dress zipper. "I'll go back in and look for Bart as soon as I take off my dress," he told the others. "It's shrunk so much, I can't swim in it."

* * *

to be continued 


	2. Chapter 2

The last thing Bart remembered was falling into a spring, trying to swim out, and catching his ankle on a protruding root. He had struggled to escape, but every frantic breath had only invited more water to enter his lungs...

All at once the cold and wetness disappeared, and the sound of thrashing limbs faded. He was floating upwards through the water - or rather, the water was flowing _through_ him.

_What's happening to me? _he wondered. The surface of the pool shrank away from him. As he rose into the sky, feeling strangely light and transparent, he could see Lisa diving into the spring and his parents standing nearby with worried expressions. "I'm up here!" he shouted to them, but they didn't seem to hear. Moreover, something was different about his voice. It reminded him of the occasion when he and Milhouse had stolen a tank of helium from Professor Frink's laboratory.

Further and further he ascended. The whole of China was spread out below him, Tibet on the south and the Great Wall on the north. He knew intuitively that the atmosphere was thin and cold around him, yet he felt no discomfort. He looked down at his hands and lower body, but could only make out vague human-like forms. The sun looked hotter and nearer than ever. It was a perfectly clear day...so why had a cloud suddenly materialized?

He could tell that he was slowing down. Seconds later he stopped completely, and the vapors surrounding him dissipated. His feet rested on a smooth, warm platform that felt like a marble floor, and upon closer inspection turned out to _be_ a marble floor. He took a step, then another. His legs worked, though his stride was inexplicably shorter. Ahead of him loomed a gigantic gate that appeared to consist of pure gold. Whether he was moving toward the gate, or the gate was moving toward him, he couldn't say.

The gate began to slide open noiselessly as he approached. It made him think of Burns Manor, only it was much more well-lighted, and no hounds were to be seen. He stepped through the portal nervously, and heard a sudden sound behind him, not unlike the ringing of a church bell. He turned, and saw that the gate had slammed shut.

Whatever this place was, he was trapped inside. He turned forward again, only to see a figure towering over him. It was solid white, from its perfectly manicured toes to its sandal-clad feet to its spotless satin robe to its shaggy beard to its luminous, shrouded face. Bart had no difficulty recognizing Him.

"G-God?" he stammered. "I-I thought you were dead!"

The tall glowing man started to chuckle heartily.

_I'm screwed_, thought Bart. _Everything Mrs. Lovejoy tried to teach me in Sunday School is true._

"Welcome to heaven, little girl," said God in a booming voice.

Bart nearly choked on his alarm. "Little _girl?_" he repeated.

The sound that came from his mouth was high-pitched, almost a squeal.

Bending over slightly, he glanced at his reflection in the polished floor. At first he denied what he saw - the image of a Chinese girl of five or six, wearing a dress of seamless white fabric, straight black hair dropping all the way to her hips. He bobbed his head back and forth, and witnessed in horror as the girl in the floor matched his movements exactly. Then he reached over his shoulders, and clutched a spaghetti-like mane of hair in each fist.

He started to giggle. He had never made such a noise before, but it came naturally. After he finally managed to stop himself from giggling, he screamed. When he was finished screaming, he giggled again. Then he screamed some more. God waited with infinite patience as the little girl tired herself out with screaming, giggling, and finally crying.

"This isn't right!" Bart sobbed in despair. "I'm not a girl! I'm Bart Simpson!"

"Simpson, eh?" said God thoughtfully. "I understand everything, yet I can't understand why a cute little girl like you would claim to be Bart Simpson. Not a day goes by that Satan doesn't ask me, 'Has Bart Simpson died yet? Has Bart Simpson died yet?' And I have to tell him, 'Not yet, but I've got my best man on the job - Sideshow Bob.'"

Spectral tears rolled down Bart's rosy new cheeks, and he took no thought to wipe them. "You did this to me," he grumbled, pointing an accusing finger at God. "You're the only one with the power."

"On the contrary," said God, waving a hand dismissively. "Since you're from China, you must have heard of the cursed springs..."

The Almighty stopped and raised his hand to his bearded chin. "Oh, my Me," he said sheepishly.

* * *

As she flung her dress into a heap on the ground, Lisa wondered why her parents, Selma, and the Shaolin monks were staring in astonishment at her. _It's not like Mom and Dad have never seen me in underpants before_, she thought. _And those monks have probably made vows of celibacy, so I shouldn't worry about them. Hmm...maybe I should take everything off. My underpants are really tight - yeesh, even my necklace seems to have shrunk. But Bart needs me, and this story is rated PG, so..._

She turned back to the spring, raised her arms, bent her knees, and performed a flawless swan dive. As she hurtled toward the water, she happened to catch a glimpse of her reflection.

"AAAAAARGHBLUBLUBLUBLUBLUBLUB..."

"Bart!" cried Marge, lunging forward. As the monks tried in vain to dissuade her, she knelt at the water's edge and inserted her arm at the spot where she had seen her "son" go down. She swept her hand to and fro, hoping and praying that someone below would seize hold of it.

"Don't just stand there like an idiot!" she urged Homer, who was just standing there like an idiot. "Help me fish them out! Get a stick! Get two sticks!"

Homer dared not move, for he saw a change coming over Marge that she herself was too busy to notice. Her hair bun was getting shorter, and so was her body. Her voice was turning less raspy. Worst of all, the two features he liked most about her were shrinking...

"Get out of there!" bellowed Homer, yanking his wife by her dry arm.

Marge, by this point looking like a thirteen-year-old girl in an oversized green dress, tumbled away from the spring and into a patch of weeds. "What was that all about?" she demanded, then moved her hand to her throat in surprise. "What's wrong with my voice?"

"Nothing's wrong with your voice," replied her sister Selma, watching with interest as Marge picked herself off the ground and slowly grew back into her original shape.

"For a minute there you had your girlish figure back," Homer remarked.

"It felt really weird," Marge rasped.

"Okay, _now_ there's something wrong with your voice," said Selma.

"The curse almost changed you," a monk cautioned Marge. "Do not touch water again."

Out of the spring burst Bart, or the person they perceived as Bart. Treading water forcefully with one arm, he dragged himself onto the shore, pulling a small figure behind him. It was a dramatic, yet amusing, scene - Bart wearing nothing but Lisa's necklace, stockings, and underpants, applying pressure to the chest of an unconscious little Asian girl with long, jet-black hair and Bart's red shirt and blue shorts hanging over her body.

Homer, Marge, Selma, Ling, and the monks surrounded the pair, and watched a rivulet of water pour from the tiny girl's lips. No one spoke a word, or bothered to ask who the strange girl was, as they assumed that Bart didn't know either.

Tense seconds passed, and the black-haired girl opened her eyes and coughed violently. After she had expelled the fluid from her lungs, she sat up and looked around in confusion. Upon seeing Bart in a kneeling position next to her, she gasped in shock and began to cough again.

"Don't be afraid," Marge tried to reassure her.

"Selma won't eat you," quipped Homer.

As Selma tried to burn through Homer's skull with her gaze, Marge attended to the half-drowned girl, supporting her back with one hand. "What's your name?" she inquired. "Do you speak English?"

The girl shot her an incredulous glare. "I'm Bart," she snapped.

"It's true, Mom," said "Bart" with a nod. "The curse of the spring turned him into a girl, and then it turned me into him. I'm really Lisa."

"I was dead," said the little girl in a panicked tone. "I got caught in a root, and I drowned, and went up to heaven, and God was there, and he sent me back so I could...so I could find a way to change back into a boy, so I wouldn't have to be a girl for eternity." She gazed hopefully at the monks, amazed at how tall they had become. "There...there is a way to change back, right?"

The robed Asians nodded in unison.

"Hot water turn you into boy again," said one monk.

Bart-chan (the little girl) sighed with relief.

"But cold water turn you into girl," said another monk.

"D'oh!"

"Then our first order of business is to find some hot water," said Lisa-kun (Lisa in the form of Bart), assisting Bart-chan to her feet.

"Ay caramba," the little girl lamented. "I haven't been this short since I was five. You got the better part of the deal, Lis. You're me."

"I'd trade you if I could," said Lisa-kun. "You're awfully cute for a Chinese girl."

"Er, ahem," said Marge, pointing her eyes at the lower part of Bart-chan's new body. The little girl looked down, and her face turned a flaming shade of red. Everyone else, even the monks, suppressed chuckles upon noticing that Bart-chan was clad in nothing but Bart's shirt. Bart's shorts and underwear had fallen around her tiny feet.

"I hope you don't mind wearing my clothes," said Lisa-kun.

Bart-chan groaned miserably.

* * *

to be continued 


	3. Chapter 3

The narrow bamboo trees offered no concealment, so Bart-chan and Lisa-kun had to dress themselves behind bushes. Momentarily Lisa-kun emerged in Bart's perfectly fitting clothes and sneakers, and Bart-chan followed seconds later, wearing a baggy red dress, a pearl necklace, and buckle shoes that flopped when she walked.

"Don't worry, Bart," said Lisa-kun as he obligingly fastened the girl's dress zipper. "Once we get to the hotel, we'll take a hot shower and everything will be back to normal."

"At least I get a chance to try on your underwear," said Bart-chan. "It's very comfortable."

Selma paused from nourishing Ling with a bottle of milk, and looked around the field. "What happened to the monks?" she wondered.

The Shaolin men had departed, leaving the American visitors to their own devices.

"Stupid tourists," said one monk to another as they trudged through the bushes. "They never listen."

"Maybe we should put up warning sign," suggested the other monk.

"We tried that," said the first monk. "It did not work."

A few hundred yards from their position lay an abandoned, rusting metal signpost bearing the message, SPRING VERY BAD IN FALL.

Marge and Homer led the way into the bamboo forest and toward the city, with Selma, Bart-chan, and Lisa-kun in tow. "Not so fast!" panted Bart-chan, pumping her little legs frantically.

Homer turned and smiled condescendingly. "Somebody wants a piggyback ride," he gushed, holding his arms out to the girl.

"No way, Homer," said Bart-chan, folding her arms and scowling. "I gave those up when I was seven."

"We'll get to the hotel faster if you let him carry you," Lisa-kun prodded her.

"Eat my shorts," Bart-chan retorted.

"I'm _wearing_ your shorts."

"You can ride on _my_ shoulders, Bart," offered Marge.

"Forget it," said Bart-chan. "I don't want to look like a sissy."

"You're a girl," Lisa-kun pointed out. "It's okay to look helpless."

At last Bart-chan sighed with resignation, and stepped into her father's waiting hands. She had never known a more embarrassing sensation than being a girl and riding on Homer's shoulders. Sadly she watched as a flock of songbirds soared over their heads. Every one of the birds seemed to be chanting, "Haw-haw!"

They spent most of the fifteen-minute walk in unhappy silence. At one point Lisa-kun remarked to his brother-turned-sister, "I can't believe you passed up a chance to lie your way into heaven."

Bart-chan shrugged. "God would've figured it out eventually."

"Then you would have gone to hell as a girl," Lisa-kun mused.

"That's, like, hell squared," said Bart-chan with an involuntary giggle.

* * *

"You should be a gentleman and let me take the first shower," Bart-chan insisted.

"I'm a lady," Lisa-kun disagreed. "You're the one who should be a gentleman."

"Hurry up, kids," said Homer, "or we'll take you back to America the way you are." Next to him, Marge was sorting piles of fresh clothes from a suitcase for her children to wear.

"I'm younger than you," Bart-chan argued. "I should go first."

"Fine," said Lisa-kun peevishly.

The little Chinese girl rushed into the bathroom. There was a brief sound of sprinkling water, and then the door opened to reveal Bart with a towel wrapped around his waist and a pleased grin wrapped around his head.

"It worked," announced the dripping-wet boy. "I have all my parts again."

"Look at us," Lisa-kun marveled. "We're like twins. We could go on a double date with Sherri and Terri."

"I don't know how much hot water's left," said Bart, prompting Lisa-kun to hop quickly into the bathroom and slam the door.

* * *

After waiting an hour for their long-delayed flight, Selma, Ling, and the Simpsons family boarded the jet and became airborne. Bart and Lisa, having mostly forgotten their strange experience in the Chinese forest, entertained themselves with various antics.

"Hey, Lis," said Bart, holding a motion sickness bag up to his face, "Wendell taught me how to barf on cue. Wanna see?"

"No, thank you," said Lisa disinterestedly.

"You said cue!" said Bart with glee. The cabin of the aircraft was suddenly filled with a stomach-churning, albeit fake, retching sound.

"You're disgusting, Bart," said Lisa, narrowing her eyes haughtily.

Moments later a young Chinese woman in a flight attendant uniform pushed a cart up to their row. "What can I get you to drink?" she asked in a polite, heavily accented voice.

Bart cast Lisa a sneaky glance from the corner of his eye. "I'll have a cup of water," he requested. "Make sure there's plenty of ice."

There was plenty of ice in Lisa's glare.

"Wait, scratch that," said Bart, his conscience bettering him. "I'll have a Sierra Mist instead."

"Make that two," Lisa chimed in.

The smiling young woman served them iced drinks and moved on. Lisa sat quietly, staring at the cup on the tray, while Bart downed his beverage in one gulp and wiped his mouth with his arm.

"That really hit the spot," he commented.

"So will this," said Lisa sinisterly.

Picking up her soda, she raised it above her brother's head and turned it upside down.

"HEY!" protested Bart as the cold drink soaked his hair, face, and shirt. As he shook his head and sputtered, he sensed a horrible transformation within his body. The seat back in front of him appeared to grow larger as his torso contracted. His legs shortened until he could no longer dangle them. Long black hair materialized and descended over his shoulders and arms.

"NOOOO!" he screamed girlishly.

"It looks like we're taking _two_ little Chinese girls home with us," Lisa joked.

"I thought it had to be water," said Bart-chan dolefully.

"What did you think soda pop was made of?" said Lisa.

Bart-chan reached down and unhooked her seat belt, which had become too loose. Grumbling and cursing, she jumped down and marched toward the lavatories in the rear of the aircraft. To her disappointment, both were occupied. The same flight attendant who had served her drink was there, and attempted to speak to her in gushing Mandarin.

"I don't speak Chinese," Bart-chan informed her.

"You're such an adorable little girl," said the attendant sweetly.

"I don't speak English either," said Bart-chan.

Anxious to resume her boy form, she made her way to the plane's front section, where she was halted by another attendant, this one a Chinese man. "I'm sorry, but these lavatories are only for first-class passengers," he said, squatting down. "Now hurry back to your mommy and daddy."

An idea occurred to Bart-chan. An appalling idea, but one that might work.

"But I really, really have to go," she whined, sticking one hand over her crotch as she held up her shorts with the other.

"All right, then," said the attendant, carefully herding her into one of the lavatories.

After locking the door, Bart-chan stretched her tiny arms over the counter and strained to reach the hot water spigot. She pressed the lever with one hand and let the water flow over the fingers of her other hand. It was only slightly warm. While she waited for it to heat up, she had a chance to gaze into the mirror and become more familiar with her new Asian face and stringy black hair. _I look like one of those stewardesses_, she thought.

The water's temperature increased, but not by much. She scooped up a palmful of the lukewarm fluid and sprinkled it over her head. Nothing happened, except that she became wetter, and her shorts fell to the floor again. _Damn, it's not hot enough. I guess I'm stuck like this for the rest of the flight._

As she retracted her arms, she realized that her lie to the attendant hadn't been a lie - she really, really needed to go. _That drowned girl must have had the world's smallest bladder_, she thought bitterly. The scent of coffee began to waft into the lavatory. _Coffee? Oh, man, that smell only makes me have to go worse... _She had only minutes to find hot water, or else she would have to do something distasteful.

_Coffee! That's it!_

Scurrying out of the washroom, Bart-chan found the male attendant standing in front of a small stove. Coffee was brewing in a metal pot atop one of the elements.

"Stop!" cried the attendant. "Don't touch that!"

Too late. Bart-chan yanked the coffeepot by its handle, overturned it, and unloaded its contents over her little body. It was hot enough indeed. Scaldingly hot.

"AAAARGH..."

The horrified attendant watched a ten-year-old boy with reddened skin writhe in pain and drip coffee at his feet.

He stepped quickly into the aisle and faced the first-class passengers. "Is there a doctor on the plane?" he shouted.

* * *

to be continued 


	4. Chapter 4

"I'm a doctor," said a bearded Hungarian man in Row 3.

"An American boy has been badly burned," the flight attendant told him. "A little girl doused him with a pot of boiling coffee. He needs your services."

The doctor jumped to his feet, showing off his white smock and stethoscope, and grinned at the other passengers. "Hi, everybody!" he called out.

Further back in the cabin, Lisa responded to the commotion with anxiety. "I'd better make sure nothing happened to Bart," she said, unlatching her seat belt.

"You're staying right here," Marge ordered, but Lisa was already dashing down the aisle.

Upon arriving in the first-class section, she was confronted with a wall of human backs, belonging to several attendants and a man with unruly black hair. "What's going on?" she asked loudly.

The black-haired man turned and smiled at her. "Hello, little girl," he said with a thick accent.

Lisa was startled to recognize him. "Dr. Nick? What are you doing in China?"

"Studying acupuncture," the doctor replied.

"Is someone hurt?" Lisa begged to know. "Is it a little girl? Or a little boy?"

"You can help by getting out of the way," a stern-faced female attendant told her.

Through the crack between Dr. Nick's legs, Lisa spied her brother prostrate on the floor, wincing and moaning. His skin was bright red, and his clothes were stained by a brown fluid. _Coffee_, thought Lisa, recognizing the smell. _Bart, you idiot! _Her knowledge of basic first aid suggested that the boy had second-degree burns over much of his body.

"Here's the pail of water you asked for, doctor," she heard a man's voice say.

Lisa panicked. _No! If he changes while in that condition, it could kill him!_

Shoving her way between Dr. Nick and the stewardess, she bounded over Bart's singed body just in time to intercept a blast of cold water that was intended for him.

Dr. Nick, the attendant with the pail, and the rest of the flight staff blinked in wonder at what they were seeing. Lisa felt her soggy dress and underpants tightening again, but her only concern was her brother's safety. She turned around, and to her relief, Bart was only slightly moistened, and still male.

"That was unexpected," remarked the stupefied Dr. Nick.

"No cold water!" demanded Lisa-kun, clenching his fists.

"I was only trying to bring down his temperature," said the doctor.

"You don't want to bring it down too quickly," said Lisa-kun knowledgeably. "You could send him into shock."

While he argued with Dr. Nick, two of the female attendants commented on what they had witnessed. "I could swear I saw her turn into a boy," said one.

"It's the chemicals Americans put in their food," the other responded.

A male attendant brought a first-aid kit in a clear plastic box, and handed it to Dr. Nick. "Stand aside, everybody," said the doctor as he pulled out a tube of burn cream. "I am going to take off his clothes and cover his body with...what the _devil?_"

Lisa-kun looked down and gasped in terror. He hadn't considered the possibility that the water dripping profusely from his skirt might land on Bart and trigger a change.

"It's the little girl again," said the attendant who had prepared the coffee. "And she's burned as well. We've got _two_ burn victims."

Praying silently to Buddha that Bart-chan had survived the transformation, Lisa-kun knelt and laid his hands on the black-haired girl's exposed arm. She screamed in pain. _Well, he's alive_, thought Lisa-kun gratefully.

* * *

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your pilot," crackled a man's voice over the plane's audio system. "Due to a medical emergency, we will be making a stopover in Vladivostok, Russia."

"Did you hear that?" said Homer with delight. "The Simpsons are going to Russia!"

"Cool your jets, Homer," said Marge, elbowing him. "We'll only be there long enough for Bart to be treated at the hospital."

"Is that long enough to mock the customs of the locals, trash a historic site, and get arrested?" Homer asked her.

"Maybe, if we don't stop to take pictures."

Outside of the cockpit entrance, Bart-chan was laid out on a mattress, her face and most of her upper body covered in bandages. The only article of clothing she wore was a pair of bright yellow underpants donated by a generous mother of two. Lisa sat on the floor close to her, affectionately massaging her uninjured right hand.

"It hurts," the little Chinese girl groaned.

"I know, Bart, I know," said Lisa calmingly.

Bart-chan peered at her through the gauze strips wrapped around her face. "Where'd you find hot water?" she asked weakly.

"I asked one of the attendants."

Bart-chan fell silent, except for an occasional quiet moan.

"I'm really sorry for what I did," Lisa told her. "It was mean. I know that turning into a girl is scary for you, just like turning into a boy is for me. I should have expected that you'd do something desperate to change back."

"I did it so I wouldn't have to pee," said Bart-chan.

"Do you still need to pee?" asked Lisa with concern.

"Well...uh...you know that pail they used to throw water on you?"

"Ewww," Lisa grimaced.

Bart-chan sighed despondently. "Now I'm stuck as a little girl until these bandages come off. How many years will that be, I wonder?"

"Less than one, I imagine," said Lisa.

"It can't come soon enough for me," Bart-chan rasped. "I want to get rid of this stupid curse and go back to being a full-time boy."

"So do I," said Lisa.

She gently laid down Bart-chan's hand, and thought deeply for a moment.

"On the other hand," she went on, "because of this Chinese curse, we have something no one else has ever had - a choice. I like being a girl, but what's to stop me from spending a week or two as a boy, just to see if I like it as much?"

"Being a girl sucks," said Bart-chan. "I know that from experience now."

"What experience?" said Lisa incredulously. "All you've done so far is burn yourself with a pot of coffee. Give it a chance."

"No way, man." Bart-chan's retort sounded humorous to Lisa due to her squeaky voice. "Girls are inferior to boys. It's a fact of life."

"That may be what you grew up believing," said Lisa earnestly, "but it's not true. A girl can do anything a boy can do. A woman can do anything a man can do, and have babies to boot. Once everyone realizes that, we'll have true equality."

The plane began its descent into Vladivostok as the two girls pondered their situation.

"And another thing," said Bart-chan. "What if I get scars all over me from the burns? What if I become like that dude from _The Phantom of the Opera_...what's his name..."

"Er, the Phantom of the Opera?"

"Yeah, that's the guy. What if the same thing happens to me? What if all the girls call me Mr. Scarface, and I go crazy, and live underground, and play creepy organ music, and everyone's afraid of me?"

"Then I'll be your angel of music," said Lisa reassuringly.

"Or even worse," Bart-chan continued, her voice growing weaker, "what if I have to stay a girl, and all the boys call me Miss Scarface, and I go crazy, and hole up in a house with a bunch of cats, and die without ever having known true love?"

Lisa lowered her eyes and sighed. "I can't help you with that one, Bart."

* * *

to be continued 


	5. Chapter 5

The plane touched down in Vladivostok without incident. It was a rainy Russian day, yet the temperature was moderate. Bart-chan was taken by ambulance to a nearby hospital to be treated for her burns, while the other Simpsons and Selma arranged for a limousine to transport them.

"Hello, Mr. Burns," Homer spoke into a pay phone. "We've run into some medical complications, so I may be a week or two late coming back from my trip to China."

"I understand, Simpson," said Burns from ten thousand miles away in Springfield. "Take as much time as you need. But as soon as you return, I want you to clean out your desk."

"Will do, Burnsie," said Homer casually. "I suppose it would get a little dusty after not being used for so long. And one other thing. Does the medical plan cover emergency treatment in other countries, like, say, Russia?"

"The Benefits department is better suited to handle that question," Burns replied. "Let me transfer you." Lowering the receiver, he pushed a button on his desk that was marked, HOLD FOREVER.

"Smithers," he said to his right-hand toady, "I fear that Homer Simpson has defected to the Soviets."

"The Soviet Union no longer exists, sir," Smithers reminded him.

"Oh, pish-tosh," Burns retorted. "They're only biding their time."

Outside the Vladivostok Airport, Lisa looked at the dank street before her and swallowed. Drops of water - cold water - were landing everywhere, forming vast puddles.

"What's the matter, Lisa honey?" inquired Homer.

"The rain," said Lisa through clenched teeth. "I don't know how the Russians would react to seeing a boy walking around in a dress."

"Let me put my skirt over you, to keep you dry," offered Selma.

Lisa shuddered. "Some things are best left to the imagination," she remarked.

"You could put this newspaper over your head," said Homer.

"Dad!" Lisa chided him. "A homeless man is using that as a blanket!"

"Oh, yeah." Homer carefully laid the paper over a half-asleep lush on a bench. "Sorry, comrade."

"BUUURRP," the lush replied.

"Let's go inside and buy Lisa an umbrella," Marge recommended to Homer.

Minutes later, Lisa climbed into the back seat of a Russian cab, carefully folded her new floral umbrella, and shook it vigorously to release the water droplets. She was joined by her mother, Selma, and Ling, who was whimpering hungrily.

"Take us to the Gogol Memorial Hospital," Homer instructed the cabbie next to him.

"Da," the grizzled man replied.

The cab departed, and wound through miles of Russian road.

"Are we there yet?" Homer asked the driver.

"Da."

They sped through the city for another hour.

"Are we there yet?"

"Da."

"I don't think he speaks English, Dad," said Lisa.

Two cabbies and hundreds of rubles later, they finally walked up to the glass doors of the Gogol Hospital. "Have you noticed how they turn all their R's backwards?" said Homer as he gazed at the inscription on the stone wall. "It's like Toys-R-Us runs the whole country."

"That must be one of the concessions they made for losing the Cold War," said Selma.

The reception area was manned, or rather womanned, by three husky-looking females. While Marge and Homer approached the first window, Selma carried Ling up to the second, and Lisa hurried to the third, bursting with curiosity.

"Is your hospital named after Nikolai Gogol, author of _Dead Souls _and _The Inspector General?_" she inquired.

"Be quiet, little girl," the receptionist answered in broken English. "You scare away the patients and the staff."

"I need formula for my baby," Selma told the stone-faced woman before her. "Can you sell me some?"

"In Soviet Union, formula was free, but we had none," the woman replied. "Now we have formula, but it is not free."

"Can you sell me some or not?" asked Selma impatiently.

"Sorry, we are all out," was the receptionist's answer. "Try the store of drugs."

Homer and Marge, meanwhile, were about to learn that more than just the language barrier complicated their efforts to locate Bart-chan.

"She's a Chinese girl, about five or six," Marge told the woman in the window. "She has long black hair."

"What is her name?"

"Er...ah..." Marge was at a complete loss.

"What is her relationship to you?"

Marge could only gape stupidly. "Answer the lady," Homer urged her.

"Psst." They turned. Lisa was motioning to them.

The girl braced herself with an arm over her umbrella handle as the others gathered around. "I have an idea," she announced confidently.

"Tell us in pig Latin," said Homer warily. "The KGB may be listening."

"Mom, get Bart's clothes out of the trunk," Lisa ordered.

Marge did so, and Lisa disappeared into the ladies' room. A minute passed and she emerged as Lisa-kun in Bart's garb, her own dress and necklace draped over her arm.

"You don't have to do this, honey," said Marge. "We can find another way."

"Technically, Bart isn't even related to us anymore," said Lisa-kun insistently. "Dad's insurance won't cover him unless we lie about his identity."

"Well, all right," said Marge with hesitation.

"Those bureaucrats won't suspect a thing," Selma remarked. "Trust me, I work at the Department of Motor Vehicles."

Once again they approached a receptionist, a different one this time. "Hello, I'm Marge Simpson from Springfield, USA," Marge introduced herself. "This is my husband Homer, my sister Selma, my niece Ling...and my son, Bart."

Lisa-kun smiled warmly.

"We're here to see our little girl, Lisa," Marge continued. "She was burned in an accident, and the ambulance brought her to your hospital."

The receptionist punched a few keys on her computer. "I see no record of a Lisa Simpson," she stated. "Can you describe her?"

"Er, she's five years old, and has long, straight black hair," Marge lied. "Her face is all bandaged up, but I assure you, she looks like us."

"A girl with bandages came in four hours ago," said the receptionist. "We do not know her name. Maybe she is your Lisa Simpson."

"Let us see her," Marge requested.

A nurse arrived and escorted them up several floors and through a long corridor. "The doctors are working on her now," she cautioned them before taking her leave.

The room reeked of medicinal compounds. They found Bart-chan lying on a bed that was much too large for her, with a white-uniformed medic on either side. The bandages had been pulled away from her face and chest, revealing darkened skin punctuated by boils and blisters.

"Omigosh," mumbled Lisa-kun, struggling not to throw up.

One of the doctors, a woman with short red hair, scrutinized the visitors, paying special attention to the Chinese baby in Selma's arms. "You are not what I expected," she said in moderately skillful English. "Are you her adoptive family?"

"No," replied Marge. "We're her natural parents."

While the female doctor stared at them incredulously, her colleague, a bearded man with glasses, gestured for them to enter. "She has suffered serious burns, but she is expected to recover," he informed them.

Bart-chan's weary eyes widened when she saw her boy form standing over her. "Lisa?" she muttered. "What the hell..."

"Shh," Lisa-kun stopped her. "I'm Bart. You're Lisa. Any questions?"

"How long will she have to stay here?" Homer asked the bearded man.

"Ten days at a minimum," the doctor replied, "before she can be safely transferred to a superior American hospital."

Homer heard a gasp of despair rise from Bart-chan's charred lips.

* * *

Two weeks later, Homer timidly stepped forward to Mr. Burns' desk.

"Have a seat, Simpson," the old wraith prodded him.

Still nervous, Homer lowered his posterior into the plush office chair.

"Am I fired?" he asked.

"Oh, don't be a silly willy," said Burns dismissively. "When has firing you ever made anything better?"

Homer sighed and relaxed his shoulders.

"The insurance company told me the sad tale of what befell your daughter Lisa during your return trip from China," Burns related. "I sympathize completely, and I want to offer my support as she endures the difficult process of recovery."

"Gee, thanks," said Homer, his mind set at ease.

"In fact, I'd like to visit her personally," Burns went on. "I understand she's being cared for at Shelbyville Hospital."

Homer's heart leaped into his throat, then leaped from his throat into his brain. He couldn't think of a single excuse, convincing or otherwise. "Uh...uh..." he mumbled.

"Why, there's no shame in it," said Burns reassuringly. "Shelbyville has the finest hospital in the region. I often go there myself. I'd never go to Springfield General for anything more serious than pneumonia. I can't stand that fool Hibbert. 'You have six months to live. That is, if you can call it living. Heh heh heh heh heh.' God, I'd like to stand by his deathbed and chuckle as he expires in agony."

"Er, I don't think Lisa would respond well to a visit from you," said Homer deliberately. "She still sees you as a blackhearted scoundrel, in spite of all my efforts to convince her that you're really a generous, caring demigod."

"Well, then, perhaps this gesture on my part will bring her over to your way of thinking," said Burns.

_I'm counting on you, brain_, thought Homer.

_Can't think_, replied Homer's brain. _There's a heart lodged in me_.

"You hesitate," said Burns with an air of menace. "You seem determined that I should not see Lisa in person. Perhaps she isn't at Shelbyville Hospital after all. Perhaps you fabricated the story of her accident in order to extend your tour of Asia. Then again, perhaps I'm merely spouting paranoid theories. I get that way when I miss my afternoon nap. Forgive me, Homer."

The message was veiled, yet loud and clear. _I am so fired_, Homer told himself.

* * *

to be continued 


	6. Chapter 6

A sense of urgency drove Homer as he drove his pink car along Evergreen Terrace and into the garage of the Simpson house. He was in a tight spot and his brain wasn't pulling its weight, so he knew he had to find other brains to help him, and very soon.

He found Marge preparing TV dinners in the kitchen, Lisa tap dancing in her room, Maggie asleep on the couch, and Santa's Little Helper chewing on an old sneaker. "Family, we have a problem," he called to everyone present.

"I'll say we do," said Marge, who came out of the kitchen with a stack of colored envelopes in her hands. "Look at all these get-well cards for Lisa. And our voice mail's clogged with messages of sympathy. The whole neighborhood thinks Lisa's the one who was burned, not Bart."

Homer took the pile of letters and leafed through them. Martin Prince, Janey Hagstrom, Lindsey Neagle, Captain McAllister, Lionel Hutz, Disco Stu... "And they call themselves our friends," he grumbled.

"I'm sure they meant well," remarked Marge. "But this is serious. If anyone sees Lisa the way she is..."

"...then they'll tell Mr. Burns, and he'll fire me faster than you can say 'release the hounds'," said Homer worriedly.

"We'll just have to keep Lisa hidden until Bart gets out of the hospital," said Marge.

"Uh, that could be a problem," said Homer. "Burns wants to visit Lisa in the hospital, and he won't take no for an answer."

"Oh, my God!" exclaimed Marge.

"Mom, Dad," said Lisa, who was standing behind the second-floor railing in her dancing suit, "you're overlooking an obvious solution."

Her parents turned and faced her hopefully.

"I can fool everyone by turning into Bart during the day," she went on as she descended the stairs. "And when Burns goes to the hospital, we'll disguise Bart with a wig and bandages, so he'll think he's talking to Lisa."

"I doubt Burns would fall for that," said Marge. "All he has to do is take one look at those Chinese eyes..."

"The only alternative is to turn Bart back into a boy," said Lisa. "But he just underwent skin graft surgery. It's too risky."

"Maybe we should let Bart decide that," said Homer.

* * *

In room 338 of Shelbyville Hospital, Bart-chan lay wincing on a bed as a lady nurse changed the dressing on her chest. "That's a good girl," the medic said soothingly. "Relax. Take it easy. This will be over in a minute." Still partially addled from anesthetic, Bart-chan lacked the strength to protest the nurse's patronizing treatment. 

"There you go," the young woman finally said. "All done."

"That wasn't so bad," Bart-chan mumbled bravely.

"You're a lucky little girl," said the nurse sweetly. "Lucky you didnt' lose _both_ nipples."

"Yeah, lucky me," said Bart-chan. "I still have one left to pierce."

The nurse rose, picked up a remote control from the counter, and switched on a TV set that was suspended from the ceiling. "I'll be back in ten minutes," she told Bart-chan. "Until then, you can watch your fighting robot cartoon."

The blistered little girl watched the colorful action on the screen for a few seconds, then realized, to her astonishment, that she didn't enjoy it much. "I'd like to watch something else, please," she squeaked.

The nurse started to flip through the channels, saying, "Tell me when you see something you like."

Bart-chan watched with bleary eyes. News...game show..._Family Guy_...reality show...concert...

"Wait," she spoke up. "What's this?"

"It's the Hallmark channel," replied the nurse. "You probably wouldn't like that."

"What's wrong with that lady?" asked Bart-chan with concern.

On the screen, a tearful woman was hovering over the deathbed of her beloved sister.

"Melissa," the dying lady moaned, "promise you'll find a good home for my children."

"Please don't talk that way," her sister said somberly. "You're going to pull through."

"No, Melissa. The cancer has spread into my liver. I don't have much longer."

An unfamiliar emotion crept into Bart-chan's heart. It was compassion.

"That poor lady," she mourned. "What'll happen to her kids after she dies?"

The nurse shook her head. "I guess they'll go to another family."

Bart-chan felt a tear roll down her singed cheek. "It's not fair," she protested. "She has little kids. She shouldn't have to die."

"Would you like to watch something else?" the nurse asked her.

"No," Bart-chan answered firmly. "Leave it here."

The nurse smiled, laid down the remote, and walked out of the hospital room.

_This is weird_, thought Bart-chan as she watched the woman on the screen take her last breaths. _I actually like this show. I used to think shows like this were just for girls._

So engrossed was she in the program that she almost didn't notice the rest of her family bursting into the room. "How's my sweet little guy?" said Marge, who was porting Maggie over her shoulder.

"Mom!" complained Bart-chan when her mother's hair bun blocked the TV screen. "This is the best part. Melissa's dealing with the guilt of not having been there for her dead sister."

Lisa glanced up at the set. "I can't believe you're enjoying this manipulative drivel," she commented. "You've been a girl for so long, it's affecting the way you think."

Bart-chan considered her sister's words thoughtfully. "Oh, geez, you're right," she concluded. "I'm going all girly. Turn it off."

While Homer switched off the TV, Lisa explained the family's situation to Bart-chan. "When we pretended that I was you and you were me, somehow word got back to Springfield that I'd been burned instead of you. To make matters worse, now Burns wants to see me in the hospital and make sure it really happened. If he thinks we concocted a story, he'll fire Dad."

Bart-chan's brown Asian eyes expressed worry, then fear, then determination.

"Hot water," she said weakly.

"Bart, no!" exclaimed Lisa. "You just had surgery!"

"You've got to change me back," said Bart-chan, her voice growing in strength. "When Mr. Burns walks through that door he's got to see a member of the Simpson family, not some strange little Chinese girl."

"Out of the question," said Marge flatly. "Your skin stretches when you change. You could rip yourself apart."

"They patched me up once and they can patch me up again," said Bart-chan. "It's the least I can do for my family. I haven't been a very good son, and I want to make it up to you. Do it, Dad."

To the horror of Marge and Lisa, Homer lifted his hand to reveal a cup of steaming water which he had been concealing from everyone but Bart-chan.

"Homer!" cried Marge in outrage.

"It's what he wants," said Homer defensively.

While Marge planted herself between Homer and Bart-chan's bed, Lisa heard a faint, familiar, and very unwelcome voice from the hospital corridor. She stuck her head through the doorway for a closer look. Two pairs of eyes spotted her and went wide.

Frantic, she pulled in her head and scampered over to her arguing parents. "Mom! Dad!" she shrieked. "Mr. Burns is coming!"

Marge and Homer fell silent and cocked their ears. The sound they heard chilled them to the very soul. "She looks perfectly healthy to me, Smithers." It was the voice of Burns. "Homer Simpson has a lot of explaining to do."

They stared desperately into each other's eyes. "Hit me with the freakin' water!" Bart-chan pleaded.

* * *

to be continued 


	7. Chapter 7

When Burns and Smithers entered room 338, they were treated to an odd scene. Homer and Marge seemed to be struggling over a cup of water as Lisa looked on, and a small Asian girl with white pajamas and splotched skin lay helplessly on a bed.

All eyes turned to face the scowling industrialist. "Er, hello, Mr. Burns," said Lisa with a nervous chuckle.

"Simpson!" Burns bellowed at his employee while gesturing at Lisa. "This child doesn't have a burn mark on her body."

"Uh, I can explain," said Homer sheepishly. "Is Tuesday good?"

Burns, with Smithers in tow, walked up to the foot of Bart-chan's bed. "Here lies the real burn victim," he said, apparently intrigued at the sight of the girl's injuries. "Who is she, Simpson?"

Homer, Marge, and Lisa stared ignorantly at him. Maggie sucked idly on her pacifier.

Finally Homer broke the tense silence. "Her name is Ping."

Bart-chan groaned in disgust. "Oh, Dad..."

"Good heavens," Burns marveled. "She called you father."

"Uh, yeah," said Homer, thinking as quickly as he could. "I am her father. Her...adoptive father."

Burns and Smithers both peered suspiciously at him.

Then Marge stepped forward. "While we were in China helping my sister to adopt a baby, we met a cute little orphan girl. She was so irresistible, we just had to bring her home with us."

"I learn speak English from missionaries," Bart-chan babbled facetiously.

"I see," said Burns. "But that doesn't explain why you claimed that Lisa was involved in the accident, and not Ping."

Homer lowered his head in shame. "We...we were afraid the company health plan wouldn't cover her."

"Oh, fiddle-faddle," said Burns. "The plant's benefits are second to none."

"More like second to last," Smithers remarked.

"Shut up, Smithers."

"Yes, sir."

Burns pressed a wiry finger on Bart-chan's cheek. "I confess I walked into this hospital room with the intention of firing you," he told Homer. "But seeing this angelic child in such tragic straits has weakened my resolve."

Homer, Marge, and Lisa sighed in unison.

"But in return for my leniency, I want three things from you," Burns continued. "First, report to the benefits office and tell them what you told me. Second, present me with a copy of Ping's certificate of adoption. Third, as soon as your little Chinese princess regains her health, you will bring her to the plant so that your co-workers can bask in her warm glow."

"Sir, 'warm glow' may not be the most appropriate choice of words under the circumstances."

"Shut up, Smithers."

"Thanks, Mr. Burns," said Homer. "And Ping thanks you, too."

"No, she doesn't," Bart-chan grumbled under her breath.

A pall fell over the room after Burns and Smithers departed. The Simpsons weren't certain whether they had just been spared or doomed.

"You should've used the water on me, Dad," said Bart-chan bitterly. "Now we're in even deeper crap."

"Don't worry, son," said Homer. "Burns hasn't asked too much. All we have to do is make a copy of Selma's certificate of adoption, and change the letter L to a letter P. You gotta love those Chinese names, they're so convenient."

"Dad..." Bart-chan started to say, but became too weary to continue.

Lisa spoke up for her. "Dad, Bart will be humiliated if you take him to work and pass him off as your daughter."

"And it won't stop there," added Marge. "Once word gets out, all of our friends will want to meet Ping. What will they think when she suddenly ceases to exist?"

"Uh, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it," said Homer.

"We've come to it," Marge informed him.

"Oh, goody!" said Homer with glee. "Can I throw stuff over the side?"

"Wait a minute," said Lisa with sudden insight. "We've been operating under the assumption that no one else can know about the curse. But once Bart gets better, we can show everyone what happened to us, and they'll understand."

"Uh, Lisa," said Homer, "have you ever heard of an invention called the water balloon?"

Lisa shuddered. "I, er, retract my last statement."

* * *

"The moment I laid eyes on you, I knew you were the one I'd been searching for." 

"Well, now you've found me. What are you going to do about it?"

Bart-chan watched wistfully as the attractive couple kissed on a park bench, framed by the Manhattan skyline at night. _They don't seem worried about cooties at all_, she thought. _Maybe cooties are something parents made up to discourage kids from kissing. They seem so happy...especially the woman..._

"Hey, Bart," said Lisa, walking into the hospital room ahead of her parents. "How ya feeling?"

"Much better," replied Bart-chan. "The doctor says I may be out of here in three days."

"Excellent," said Marge, over whose shoulder hung a book bag. "Do you feel well enough to try your hand at some homework?"

"Ugh," Bart-chan groaned. "I thought Lisa was taking my place at school."

"I am," said Lisa, "and you should show a little more gratitude. Spending the entire school day as a boy was a genuinely icky experience."

With some effort and considerable discomfort, Bart-chan pulled herself into a sitting position. "Let's see the homework," she said with resignation.

"There's two weeks' worth," said Marge, dropping the bag onto the mattress with a slight bounce.

She zipped it open, and Bart-chan peered inside at the books and papers. "Geez, this is the first time my homework's been bigger than me," she remarked.

After Homer, Marge, and Lisa had left, a nurse brought Bart-chan a pad to support her back and a small platform for her books. "I'd like to be alone now, please," said the little Chinese girl, afraid the nurse would become overly curious about her ability to read at a fourth-grade level.

* * *

Twenty-four hours passed, and Bart-chan's clan returned for another visit. They found her upright in bed, watching a TV-movie about a teenage girl's struggles to become the world's first paraplegic figure skater. 

"Hi, Bart," said Lisa. "How are you doing on the homework?"

"Finished it," replied Bart-chan without looking away from the screen.

"You're joking."

"No, I'm serious."

Finding a stack of papers on the counter, Lisa thumbed through them and let out an astonished gasp. "He's...he's telling the truth." She plucked out a random paper and handed it to her mother.

"These answers are correct," marveled Marge, passing the worksheet back to Lisa.

"Surprised?" said Bart-chan. "So am I. The girl I turned into must have been some sort of super-prodigy."

"Yeah, but she couldn't swim to save her life," quipped Homer.

"I don't believe this," said Lisa, glancing over a few of the completed assignments with her mother. "Bart's never worked so fast before."

"I've always heard that Chinese kids outperform American kids in math and science," said Marge. To Bart-chan she added, "If you stay the way you are, you may grow up to be a university professor."

"No way, Mom," said Bart-chan. "I want to be a boy again, and that's that."

"Have it your way," said Marge with a trace of disappointment in her tone.

Leaving the hospital, the Simpsons drove onto Route 401 in the direction of Springfield. In the backseat, Maggie was giggling and squirming in her chair while Lisa tickled her.

Some time passed, and Lisa paused from her tickling to ask a serious question. "Mom, if you don't mind my saying, you sound like you want Bart to stay female."

Taken aback, Marge glanced warily over her shoulder. "I, uh, like girls. And Bart makes a really sweet girl. But if he wants to be a boy, that's all right with me."

Lisa folded her arms. "I know what you're thinking," she said in a mature tone. "You've wished for a long time that you could start over with Bart, and shape him into something other than an underachieving clod. Now your chance has come at last. He's five years old, and better still, he's a girl. An unusually bright girl. A girl who may turn out to be just like me."

Marge only hemmed.

"You want to turn Bart into a second Lisa," the girl continued. "I understand, but I don't think it's right. I don't think it's natural. Bart's his own person. He has his own destiny. That Chinese girl died hundreds of years ago. She fulfilled her destiny. Why should Bart be forced to live _her_ life?"

"She drowned when she was five," mused Homer. "What kind of crappy destiny is that?"

"I can't force Bart to live someone else's life," said Marge with a shrug.

_But I can give him a darn good incentive_, she thought.

* * *

to be continued 


	8. Chapter 8

The next two days passed slowly, but they passed nonetheless. As the clock ticked nearer to Bart-chan's discharge from Shelbyville Hospital, the little boy-turned-girl became more and more excited and agitated. She was pacing back and forth in her room, wearing white pajamas and nothing on her feet, when the other Simpsons arrived with smiles of gratitude on their faces.

"Bart, you look great!" exclaimed Lisa.

"Thanks, Lis," said Bart-chan. "But you don't really mean that. My face looks like someone took a cheese grater to the surface of the moon."

"I was referring to the ponytails," said Lisa, gesturing at the ribbons in Bart-chan's long black hair.

"Yeah, the nurse talked me into putting those on," said Bart-chan. "She thought they would make me look prettier."

"Here's something else that will make you look prettier," said Marge proudly.

Homer stepped forward, clutching a white cardboard box with the Dullard's clothing store logo. Yanking off the top, he reached inside and pulled out a plastic hanger. Suspended from the hanger was a small, bright red dress with sequins on the skirt.

Confused emotions raced through Bart-chan's mind as she gazed at the shiny new dress.

"It's...it's beautiful," she remarked. "Who's it for?"

"You, silly," said Marge, giggling. "You're not taking those pajamas home, you know."

"You didn't have to spend money," said Bart-chan disdainfully. "You could have let me wear one of Lisa's old dresses."

"It's not just for the trip home," said Marge as she removed the dress from its hanger and pressed it up against Bart-chan's chest. "You're going to wear it when you go to work with Dad. You want to make a good impression on Mr. Burns, don't you?"

Bart-chan let out a discouraged sigh. "I guess I don't have a choice."

"That's right, you don't." Marge giggled again.

Lisa presented Bart-chan with a small bag. "Here's some of my old shoes, socks, and underpants."

"Fine," grumbled the little Chinese girl as she carefully folded the new dress over her arm. "I'll go change."

Into the bathroom she trudged, closing the door. She kept her back towards the full-length wall mirror while putting on her fresh clothes. By the time she had zipped her dress and buckled her shoes, however, she could resist no longer. She turned around and looked directly at her reflection.

Her short dress sleeves exposed flaky, blotched skin. Her face was pock-marked from blisters. In spite of these visible flaws, she couldn't help but smile.

_I'm a pretty girl_, she thought. _I shouldn't feel good about this, but I do._

She smiled all the way to the receptionist's desk, where she dutifully grabbed a balloon and a handful of candy. The sparkling skirt bounced this way and that as she walked toward the car with her hand in her mother's.

"I've never seen you happier," said Marge. "You must really like that dress."

"No, Mom," said Bart-chan, her smile unbroken. "I'm happy because I'm gonna be a boy again." She paused for effect. "But the dress is cool."

She belted herself into the back seat next to Lisa, whom she was starting to regard as her big sister. "Who wants to go out for dinner?" Marge called out from the front of the car.

"I do! I do!" cried Lisa and Bart-chan in unison.

Lisa turned to face the little girl in surprise. "I thought you were in a hurry to turn back into a boy."

"Well, I'm hungry," said Bart-chan, folding her tiny arms. "Hospital food is crap. I wanna go to Krusty Burger."

And to Krusty Burger they went. Eighteen cheeseburgers and four frosty chocolate milkshakes later, they arrived at home with stuffed bellies.

"I've never seen you eat that much, even when you were a boy," Marge remarked to Bart-chan.

"I've never been stuck in the hospital for three weeks before," said the ponytailed Chinese girl.

They sat down on the couch together, and for once the TV remained off. An intense emotional weight was bearing down upon them, but they did their best to mask it.

"I'm glad it's over," said Lisa. "When I go to school as Bart, I have a hard time paying attention in class, and sometimes I get urges to pick on nerds. I've gained a whole new appreciation for being a girl."

"So have I," Bart-chan admitted. "I've gotten in touch with emotions I didn't know I had."

"You _didn't_ have them," said Lisa.

"I'm still afraid those skin grafts might get stretched out," said Marge to her son/daughter. "Can't you wait another day before changing?"

"You're the one who's trying to stretch things out, Mom," said Lisa peevishly.

"I promise not to strangle you anymore if you stay a girl," said Homer, patting Bart-chan's round head.

"I might just take you up on that, Mr. Potato Belly," the little girl joked.

"WHY, YOU LITTLE..." Homer stopped himself in mid-rant. "...angel!"

"Stop pressuring him," Lisa chided her parents. "The decision is his to make."

"And I've made it," said Bart-chan with finality. "Mom, get me my boy clothes."

They watched, intrigued, as she marched into the bathroom and shut the door. "Don't scald yourself again," Marge cautioned her.

Several minutes passed. Marge and Homer went about their affairs, but Lisa remained outside the bathroom, transfixed by curiosity. To her surprise, she had heard no sound of water running, either from the shower or from the faucet.

She knocked on the door. "Bart? Are you decent?"

"Come in," she heard a weak girl's voice speak.

Struck with concern, Lisa let herself in. Bart-chan stood there, still in her new red dress and ponytails, gazing into the child mirror. Her cheeks were stained with tears.

"Omigosh, what's wrong?" Lisa asked her.

Bart-chan gave her a look of wonder mixed with pain. "I had no idea it felt this way. I always thought girls were weird and stupid for wanting to look pretty all the time."

Lisa smiled understandingly.

"There's so much I don't know about girls," Bart-chan lamented. "There's so much I don't know about life."

"That's what school is for," said Lisa.

Bart-chan lowered her head, and fresh tears fell from her brown eyes. "I'm afraid, Lis. I'm afraid that when I go back to being Bart, I'll be the same Bart I was before. I'm afraid I won't learn anything from this...this miracle."

Lisa gaped slightly.

"That's what it is," said Bart-chan, staring fervently at her. "It's not a curse. It's taught me that girls have feelings, and they're not the same as mine. That there's a whole universe of other people's feelings to explore. That I don't have to spend the rest of my life locked up inside Bart Simpson's stupid little head, thinking Bart Simpson's stupid little thoughts."

Unable to come up with words, Lisa simply took her by the hand.

"As soon as I change, these feelings will turn off like a light," said Bart-chan sadly.

"You can always change again later," said Lisa.

Bart-chan pressed her head against Lisa's dress and sniffled. Soon the two girls were embracing.

"I love you, Lisa," said Bart-chan tearfully.

"You always have," was Lisa's reply.

* * *

Seeing that the light was on in Bart's room, Marge stuck her head through the doorway. "Time for bed, Bart."

To her amazement, it was not a boy, but a girl sitting on the mattress, poring over a rather thick book. Bart-chan looked up at her mother and smiled proudly.

"Lisa loaned me her copy of _Sense and Sensibility_," she stated. "I've read the first five chapters."

Marge took a moment to regain her breath. "Uh, that's very good, er, Bart."

"I decided to take your advice and wait another day," said Bart-chan.

"I'm happy to hear it," said Marge. "Now go to sleep. You're a growing girl."

She giggled. Bart-chan giggled along with her.

As Marge walked away, shaking her head in disbelief, Bart-chan closed the book and reached back to unzip her dress. Once she had changed into Lisa's old pajamas, she switched off the lamp and pulled the soft blanket over her body.

_I should have asked her to tuck me in_, she thought.

God and Satan looked down from heaven at the little girl as she slumbered peacefully.

"It was you who put the curse on those springs," Satan snapped at God.

The Almighty nodded.

"Very clever," said the devil. "But wait and see. Tomorrow he'll go back to being his old screw-up self."

"I'll bet you fifty souls he won't," said God.

"Make it a hundred and you're on."

* * *

THE END 


End file.
